Border Crossings & our Tresspasses

Here is a piece that I want to slowly nurture & shape into a small compendium of stories and accounts of life on the high wire of home & homeless, sanity & insane, lost and found......
This is a very rough first draft........


Border crossing 1.0

Holden Caulfield once asked where the all the geese go from Central Park in the winter, our inquisitive volunteers and curious Georgetown neighbors often ask where do all the homeless go from the DC parks during the winter?........

From day one at the center, I’ve felt like I have continually been trespassing and crossing borders. The only barbed thing about it was these borders shift, constantly.

Saeed, who worked the front desk at the center, didn’t believe me when I stated that I was here for The job interview and offered me a flat cheese sandwich and some respite. Not knowing what to do or even how to respond, I sat sheepishly on a cheap, plastic chair amidst the blurred chaos of the center. Saeed, also known as one of DC’s most notorious bank robbers, reformed through Islam and hard time, finally threw me a bone, informing me that the director would be out in a few.

Tabloids couldn’t keep up with these inconceivable stories, talk show hosts would blush merely hearing our daily conversations and America’s Most Wanted just might find who they are looking for if they crossed this threshold of our door.

Its Awakenings meets One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest except there are more than one flying and there might be more suppressing than awakening.

One thing is a constant within this windy, choppy undertow of the center-we are all on our own journey. Each one of us are independently charting our own course, sharing only the same mysterious, bottomless sea….. however, we do occasionally pass through one another’s wake just long enough to see each other’s sterns. The channels are full of scar sharing, strategies for the street and swapping tales and tears but at the end of the night we still all consider ourselves Captain.

The destination is similar for us all-we all want happiness, love and respect but the pathways are all different. The center’s fault line unfortunately turns gentle rain into torrential downpours, mild storms into epic hazardous conditions and light breezes turn into deadly tsunamis. Treading these seas is for salty dogs and clever buccaneers.

Like people waiting for their train to come, we serve as a train station for those who have either missed the last train, not enough money for the fare or simply no direction home. At moments like these the best place to be is one where you can unload all your extra baggage, take a deep breath and feel at home. Some of our guests are freshly minted and eager for the next ride, while others are content in conversation while others have completely given up even looking at the marquee knowing that their train will never come. It is here in these transient chambers, full of sorrow, dreams, suitcases and stories were we can enter one another’s life and journey sometimes just quick enough for a warm coffee and others for a lifetime.

Now Online!!!! Betamax.......two full length albums

In 1997 in the midst of falling in love, graduating college and memorizing Beat poetry-I also began strumming the guitar. I was also able to get my hands on an old 8 track recorder and lay down some tracks, along with some other friends assistance and became Betamax and the Video Cha Wa-Was. These 10 plus songs became the first album entitled Properly Clad.
Then in 2003, prior to leaving for PeaceCorps Morocco, I unearthed the same 8 track recorder and within a 2 day stretch laid down another album ( trying to encompass various musical styles) entitled Going from Zero to hungry in food poisoning.
Unfortunately the order of the songs are out of place but...here's the link:

http://www.evearitt.com/nathan.zip

a catered family-friendly event

This past weekend was my first foray as a parent, along with Summer and now one year old Miles, into what is known as a catered family-friendly event. As a virgin, all the idiosyncratic and unique rhythms of the night definitely stood out to me, think telephone pole in the Sahara desert.

Parents watching children, children watching children, parents watching parents and children watching parents-the dynamics of these intricate relations could fill pages or shelves of commentary all under the psychology banner or perhaps Mystery genre or self-help section at the local library.

Although the event was a Winter’s Eve Holiday celebration, I couldn’t get the image of balloons (think birthday) out of my head. I’m not exactly sure why, but perhaps it was due to the physique of some of the adults who appeared more like half-inflated balloons drooping under antiquated Santa sweaters and winter scarves. Or perhaps it was from the ecstatic energy of all the kids bouncing like taut helium balloons pressing the ceiling in hopes for escape.

Parental styles wore out like a fashion show, the good, the bad and the balloney. Some were quicker at correcting and constantly adjusting every twist and turn of their unique little star, while others gleefully watched their gem glitter down the catwalk, cheering every step and stumble along the way.

I was confused at eye-level. Do I look at my own kid, the other kids, the other kids’ parent, the other kids’ parents looking at other kids' parents?..at times I caught myself blindly starring at the mechanical Santa moving back and forth in rotation.

Onward to the holiday arts and crafts section of the evening. Like the innocent fellow at the restaurant who states he isn’t hungry but proceeds to pick a pickle from this plate, a fry from that one, a sip here and a slice there, the ol ‘in but not of’ approach. That was me at the make a Frosty the Snowman holiday gift-bag table: Do I put the nose on the bag? Does Miles? Do I make my own ornaments and if so, do I order up the works or go for the pick and dabble strategy??

Being virgins at this family event and playing the role of the unsuspected tourist-we definitely embodied the spirit of Christmas present. Those saggy, drawn-out, lazy glances and less than perky attires filled the spirit of Christmas past. While those dear little ones, not yet old enough to read, crowding around this year’s orator of ancient tales, loaded with questions, comments, excitement, energy, emotions, cookies and sugar all vying for that exact moment of space and time-impregnating each and every second-ready to burst-they are the spirit of Christmas future.

I have to say, funneling out of Glen Echo that night we all felt buoyant and high despite the torrent rain.

Serving 8 courses at Mile One

"The fact is that it takes more than ingredients and technique to cook a good meal. A good cook puts something of himself into the preparation -- he cooks with enjoyment, anticipation, spontaneity, and he is willing to experiment."

Pearl Bailey

Aperitif As the 21st century marshals on and on and on and on..........the stampeding of all new & never ending media- continues trampling over more and more of our time and self. Why are they called I-phone, I-pod, I-pad along with all their spin-offs and cousins?? We better look-up soon before stepping out into the constant traffic from these busy superhighways.. Bored of your apps? Bored of the insomniac, nauseating, dribble we call media, bland social webbing entanglements, the habitually-neurotic texting/sms/im/email/twits/facebook/reddit/and other networking sprawl???(ooppsss, sorry that this email perpetuates this cycle and its irony).. .......you know sometimes you gotta rub your nose into it, to realize what you've been treading on........sniff, sniff... Appetizer Have we willingly sold our birthrights for a porridge filled with the latest devices/gadgets, forever breaking & developing news-reels and the freshest updates on our face-books?....... Wired, tired and a shaky foundation built on incessant public polling/opinions, friend’n a friend who is only 8 removed from your best friend's cousin’s late gym teacher, and 3 degrees separate from Kevin Bacon, Wi-Fi/3G and 4G oasis, and staying forever plugged-in leaves us vulnerable and constantly treading water;............exhausted. Entree The first step in this real national recovery plan is to admit that we have a serious crisis/problem. Through this awareness, we should be able to stop treading waters and discover the beauty and balance of sitting beach-side; laughing and playing in the sand and sun with others in the Light. Main course One mile of celebrating life in the light Whether others are present or not, the reaction is fairly typical: emotions flare, you start to yell at the top of your lungs, life becomes taller than the sky, as you....................turn up the volume on that favorite radio song. It's a mixture of nostalgia, raw emotions, hope and that shining, bright awareness of being truly alive. It's that frequency {amidst all the static} that draws this ink. During the last year, some of the moments have passed by quicker than those wet raindrops resting on the windshield between intervals of my wipers. While other moments have been etched into memories like that of a faded photograph. Its stitched into time with only its flimsy edges keeping the blur of time from rushing in. What analogy or metaphor/simile could ever succinctly capture these exhilarating experiences in life? As with all comparisons, limitations do tend to shorten their exclamation points! We do have: In The Beginning... ....the Divine birthing all life into being, both then and now;....... besides what's the point in a blank canvas? Suffice to say that what I'm trying to convey is merely a beam off a prism called life and its circular motions. I would have to say that I'm quite partial to the metaphor of parenting [as well as living] as being like that of a sculptor who takes this Divine- clay and graciously, artfully, patiently and constantly forms it into Being. But the loudest limitations of this metaphor {and perhaps all parenting metaphors} are its lack of freedoms, its overt control/manipulation, and its non-reciprocating vibes. So, I will balance this with the analogy of parenting {& Being}, to tuning an instrument {you might have to suspend your thoughts and also think of yourself as an instrument; what are you? are you in tune {whose tune}? and what tunes do you play? soft or loud?. Thus, we are all instruments eager to play our notes into this grand symphony called life. Or, incorporating the former metaphor: We are all being molded into our own unique instruments, to play our melodious tunes.......Are we stretching this just too far??????????????????........... [Popquiz: How do you see yourself as a parent/lover: A. as a boss, B. cheerleader, C. wisdom teacher, D.cop, E. Gardener F. Zoo keeper G. A minor god H. all the above I. some of the above J. none of the above K. Other ***editor's note: comparisons are better illustrated than explained***** ....................Well, then perhaps a poem would better capture these ideas: ~Ever Opus Ever attentive please make of me. Adjusting always towards love and light. Yearning equally Sunset and Sunrise syncopate these notes within.. a spotlight, somewhere out there, on the edge;.............................................of the world there's an opera convening awaiting....to begin! As parents of a rapidly approaching 1 year old, we and our intimate circle of friends/family have gone through this roller-coaster ride called, the FIRSTS. For the infant: first breath, color, movement, taste, tooth, diaper, touch, laugh, smile/cry, etc.............And in the other corner, the firsts: to be overwhelmed with this much responsibility, intense feelings of flight/fright, stress and gray hairs, new found appreciation of our own parents, boundless joy, deep-seated love, satiated contentment, etc......There are just too many firsts to be included and some perhaps better left unspoken. But, why all these firsts??.......So that when the seconds, thirds, and fourths emerge they will be welcomed with arms wide open, hearts full of compassion and genuine/trusted compasses. Salad Course Now on to Adulthood for a moment..... this Sophistication of Adulthood has almost permanently paralyzed me with frequent tendencies of non-love. My threshold/conditional stance of what to love and allow 'in'...................... slowly gets narrower/tighter, as my aging, adult vantage-point on life & love defaults more and more to me-centered....Are we busier building walls or bridges??....and is that with straw or without??.... To come 'as a child' relinquishes us from this advancing tendency of calibrating and angling love on our own terms and conditions, written in the smallest of print, on the back of a napkin, in the back of our pockets...with invisible ink. If love truly, truly has no ending or conditions and we truly, truly yearn/desire to be that, then as calculating adults we need to relent, let go and......change. Dessert It's astonishing seeing the development of childhood, marked by the ever, constant changes and sharp learning curves. As adults we have all but successfully muted this natural, organic, incredible, desiring, fact of life; that we are all learners in this life and are all works in-progress (progress meaning moving closer and closer to true love), constantly changing/learning every day, perhaps a little less sharp than in childhood. And like the old adage says, 'adults make children, but children also make adults' rings so, so true, if we could only drop the trophy of having it all it to-gether for second. Children naturally draw out these vibrant colors in life, where as we adults have grown to shade almost everything entirely in tones of black, white or opaquely blurry. So, here & now is our constant opportunity in life to change/transform/convert from these tendencies and rather high perches of rigid self-posturing/self-guarded stances and All figured-out platforms that we sanction as adulthood into a willing & vulnerable, playful and active sense of wonder, graceful, laugh-infused life full of welcomed change, deep-embedded love for the Sacred in others and daily focus on this vision....... Cheese selection Children create awareness of the present moment unlike anything else that I have ever witnessed. The NOW of life has a sharp learning curve, requiring all to participate/learn. To be on the outside of now, loses that particular life's lesson and opportunity of growth. So, be here now!, now!, now!, now!!......... Children allow one to be: Aware that each and every moment is time for tuning as instruments {parent and child alike} so that our unique style, rhythm, and cadence is acquired and played. It's the constant awareness that handling sacred-clay requires dirt under the nails, sweat, persistence, and long-suffering infused in love. Awareness that the 'giver' has to be in tune, that the artist has to be inspired and actively engaged in all master-pieces; active ears, eyes, hands, mind and heart! After Dinner Digestif It's being able to find that radio frequency, sing it from the mountain top, echoing through the valleys and being able to channel that into the delicate, daily, fine tunings and precise touches on the potter's wheel. Doggie Bag

As newly minted parents its laughable finding ourselves in these newly acquired roles. I've never ridden an electric bull but am pretty confident that I now know the basics principles involved; thanks to one of these new parental-positions. This on-the- job training directly involves plenty of rawhide, lots of bucking/tossing/turning, along with fecal flying madness, and is called: Attempting to change the diaper of a soon to be one year old {or putting on pants for that matter}. The one advantage of the bull rider being that they get to wear leather gloves.
The other two truly unique roles, both falling under the category of high-level security, is what I like to call-the original 'home'-land security. Primary code RED targeted struck- zones are: all trashcans, and the toilet [the dirtier, the better]. In a flash, when my 'guard' is down, Miles post-facto reveals his latest hit from bouts of ooohhhhsss, aaaahhhhsss and giggles. At this point in time, it’s too late, he has struck, leaving me vulnerable and eyes-wide open. Running into the disaster zone, the scene is fairly typical: debris scattered and flung everywhere and/or Miles has already bobbed for any/all toilet treats a la carte, no plate required just a bowl. And that is when things quickly transition into phase two: damage control and sanitation detail......
These new roles, labors of love, and laughable moments are better, richer and deeper than we could have ever imagined a year ago.
Here I sit, finishing these last few lines hoping to leave with a scent of love, joy, thankfulness and pure wonderment from this last year of parenting and leave you with some brilliant closing statement elevating you into ecstatic, euphoric, esoteric, enlightened bliss, but...... ...........Hold on...........gotta run, I hear the trash bin's lid spinning and Miles laughing to himself.....

And remember that to fully transform into a sacred flower; direct daily digging and handling of our own shit/compost is a must.

Love has no ending,

nathanclark